


First Kiss

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Dragon Age Origins Verse [1]
Category: Dragon Age Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair and Amodisia stay up too late in camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> For @maebyrutherford's DAO Tribute Week.

It was damn late by the time Amodisia realized she should have gone to her tent hours ago. Slightly inebriated and incredibly tired, the only thing that kept her awake was Alistair’s obnoxious stories. Maker, she could stare at his face all blighted day.

“And then,” he continued, chuckling through the entire story. “This fool gets back up _again_ , and Duncan just slammed him right back on his ass with his shield. Poor sod never knew what hit him.”

His laughter was infectious, her laughter mingling with his loudly. Too loudly, it seemed, as a tin cup whizzed between their heads, narrowly missing both of them and crashing through the fire pit. Behind them, Morrigan stood just outside her tent, a thunderhead brewing.

“Honestly, Amodisia, I expect better of you. Alistair has an excuse,” she admonished.

“It’s because I’m incredibly witty and charming,” he whispered loudly to Amodisia and she knew Morrigan had heard. Her sound of disgusted frustration echoed across camp as she turned back into her tent.

Amodisia turned back to Alistair with a frown. “She’s right, it is quite late. I am exhausted,” she said through a gaping yawn as she stretched.

“But, I …” Alistair began only to cut off with a sigh. “Yes, sleep is in order.”

“Good night, Alistair,” she said as she attempted to rise from her blanket. The world spun around her head in a rush as she tried to step towards her tent. Her gasp died in her throat as her feet twisted in her blanket and she toppled over right into Alistair’s lap where he caught her.

“Oh, I am so sorry. This damn blanket,” she cursed as she reached for her feet, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

Her flailing arms and legs froze. Maker, his arms! Strong and warm, they snaked around her waist, pulling her so close she could see the freckles across his nose. She couldn’t help but gape, green eyes wide and lips parted in surprise at the sudden closeness of him.

And then his lips found hers, a soft, gentle kiss that he let linger.  _Holy Andraste_. Nothing felt this amazing. His tender lips, his heaving breath, his strong arms, all attempted to extract the most wanton of sounds from her.

But as quickly as it had begun, it was over. He parted from her, mouth agape in shock at his own actions. Apoplectic, his jaw worked, but no sound came out, words escaping him.

With a hand on one cheek, she reached up to kiss the other. Maker, but he was  _warm_. She knew her own embarrassment must match his, face tingling with the reddening sensation.

“Good night, Alistair,” she repeated, pushing up from his lap and sauntering off to her tent, quickly succumbing to her alcohol infused exhaustion.

* * *

Fifteen hours. Alistair had managed to avoid her all day for  _fifteen_  hours. Their travel on their way to Denerim had been slowed by abysmal weather, and to Amodisia, it seemed that Alistair had jumped on any chance to stay away from her.

By the time they staked camp, she decided to take action. She approached him, cautiously, hoping not to scare him off like a frightened rabbit like she had several times earlier that day. When he froze under her gaze, she asked, “Walk with me?”

He said nothing, standing up to follow her away from their group of companions surrounding the camp fire. Amodisia stopped when she felt they were far enough out of ear shot.

The pained look on his face worried her. What was she supposed to say? And how? With a sigh, she settled on being forward. “Look, Alistair, I know you’re upset about last night—“

“No,” he interrupted. “I am not. Quite the opposite, in fact. I rather enjoyed our … _connection_. But what I am concerned with is how  _you_  felt about it.”

She gaped, incredulous. He was worried about how  _she_  felt about their kiss. At first, the thought seemed ridiculous. Silly. But after a moment’s consideration, the notion seemed normal, understandable even.

“I  _loved_  it,” she whispered.

His cheeks colored in an instant and he swallowed thickly. “Ah. Well. Good. I’ll um. Just stay here. Until the blushing stops. Good night, Sia.”

With a laugh she strode back to the campfire, looking back over her shoulder. “Good night, Alistair.”


End file.
